Out of Pride's Ashes
by borgprincess
Summary: A different take on 'Fantasy Date' the attack on Brenda brings the team closer together. Meanwhile, don't make me beg for reviews, please!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, I just like to play with them.

Out of Pride's Ashes

"I don't know how else to say this, Brenda," Will Pope stared hard at Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson to drive home his point, "If you want something, go get it."

That final pronouncement made glaringly clear to her, the willowy blonde sniffed and spun on her heel, stalking off without further protest. Obviously this was a lost cause. Uncharitable thoughts about distraught mothers hovering and interfering in the investigation into the murder of their child flew through her mind. This particular mother was a former ADA and now followed the political circuit as a Congresswoman, who created a substantial burden with her incessant intrusions into the case revolving around her raped and murdered daughter, Carla Simmons.

Since the Congresswoman was hellbent on regaining her daughter's house- regardless of the fact that it was the _crime scene_- and the other officers in Brenda's Priority Homicide Squad were swamped with interviews, processing reports and sifting through possible leads, that left one lone free agent to comb through the victim's house. Brenda Leigh Johnson herself.

Thankfully, she made it back to the crime scene without too much difficulty. Smugly, Brenda reflected that she was possibly finally getting the hang of navigating LA's streets, with the fleeting thought 'so there' directed towards Sergeant Gabriel, who had rubbed in her poor sense of direction on previous occasion. After dispatching the hapless officer who clung to the sole remaining key to the house like it was a favourite teddy bear, Brenda finally had some peace and quiet to search through the house on her own. Her methods were not the most conventional, but it worked for her.

Sampling freely from Carla's candy supply, stored ever so temptingly out in the open on the coffee table, Brenda slipped off her heels and crawled around on all fours, rapping on the floors, checking beneath the carpet and under furniture for something, _anything_ out of the ordinary. Despite the rigorous search, she didn't uncover anything interesting and replaced her heels, frustrated in her efforts. Glancing around the room thoughtfully, a relatively innocent looking ceramic container caught her eye.

_Now what do we have here? _Brenda wondered as she withdrew the contents, neatly tucked inside a plastic sachet. So Carla did drugs- whether that was a factor in her murder remained to be seen. Reflecting on this new discovery, she was oblivious to the intruder stealthily slipping into the room, looming behind her…

The instant she sensed something was wrong, it was too late.

Her hands flew up in shock as masking tape sealed her lips, preventing any screams from being heard, while grasping hands seized her wrists and pulled her backwards. Stunned surprise paralysed Brenda for a moment before her training kicked in, and she began to resist. Facing away from her attacker put her at a disadvantage, but she lashed out behind her with her foot, aiming for his instep and twisting her heel with savage pressure. She was rewarded with a grunt of pain as his grasp on her loosened and she pulled away, jabbing him in the gut with her elbow to drive home the point that grabbing a lady was not acceptable where she came from. Freed from the man's hold, she lunged away, hoping to put some distance between them in order to-

_Oh!_ She mentally winced as the attacker reached out with an indiscriminate grasp, tearing at her thin wrap with one hand and tugging at a fistful of blonde curls with the other, jerking her head back painfully. Regaining his hold on Brenda, the man threw her down onto the floor, establishing himself on top of her, trying to hold her down with his own body. While he immobilized her arms with bruising force and attempted to wrestle her into submission, the assailant left himself vulnerable in one area and she took advantage, slamming her head backwards into his, making direct and satisfying contact. Before she could press it further, he reared back and smashed his fist against her head viciously, the floor rising to meet her with dizzying force as her vision blurred ominously.

_Don't you dare give in_, she warned herself. _He_ _is not going to win!_

Despite this fierce resolve, Brenda was unable to free herself as the attacker flipped her over, now kneeling with his legs braced on either side of her body. She could not make out any details of his facial features, which were covered by a black ski mask, although his voice was distinctly gruff and irate.

"_Damn bitch_!"

The other pleasantries were obscured, however, by the grip on her throat he emphasized his rant with, leaving her choking for breath as it gradually tightened. As she weakened under his assault, for the first time, Brenda felt true fear as her struggles came to nothing.

Confident in his mastery, he rose off her, pulling her up with him and hurling her onto the bed. She continued to twist and buck, fierce as a wildcat, though dread clamped around her heart as he tugged at the neckline of her dress, ripping it down her front. Crime scene photos of Carla Simmons' ravaged body flooded her mind, the knowledge of what this man intended to do to her terrifying. He seized her bare thigh, exposed as the hemline of her dress rode up during the assault, and dug his nails into the tender skin-

_You just wait_, she vowed, jaw clenching against the indignity. _Just one more second, just a little longer-_

Intent on her body, he left her arms free and she reached underneath, desperately seeking the only hope of freedom and her salvation, the only instrument left to enable her survival- relief pounded through her veins as her hand clenched around her gun.

Digging it into his stomach ferociously, she ripped off the tape on her lips. "Feel that in your gut?" Brenda enquired through strained vocal chords.

He froze. "Are you loaded?" The shock incapacitated him.

"Get off me or you're going to find out!" she hissed, jabbing the gun in warning.

Her assailant, now defeated, eased gently away- not content with his slow pace, she bucked again and used her heel to boot him off her, sending him thudding to the floor none too gently.

"Take off your mask," she demanded. "Take it off now!"

"All right, all right," he pulled it off. "Please- don't shoot me."

With satisfaction, she briefly noted the blood trickling down from his nose, then growled, "You are under arrest, for breaking and entering, for assaulting a police officer-"

As he began to protest, shifting painfully, her fury boiled over.

"Move your little finger and I will blow your head off!"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, I just like to play with them.

A/N: There is no proper chronology- if I want to refer to something in an episode that occurred _after_ 'Fantasy Date', well…chalk it up to artistic licence!

**Out of Pride's Ashes- Part 2**

Her hand was shaking.

"Chief!"

She could not steady her grip on the gun. Brenda fought to keep her weapon aimed squarely at her attacker but for some reason, it kept wavering.

"Chief, are you all-?" the black man hesitated, breaking off. The answer was painfully evident.

"What do _you_ think it looks like?" Lieutenant Provenza sarcastically enquired of the younger man.

The man who assaulted her remained sprawled inelegantly on the floor, fearing to move from the position to where she had kicked him. His black ski mask lay crumpled beside him, revealing an ordinary, rather shell-shocked face. Blood still trickled down from his nose. At the arrival of the other police officers on the scene, he stirred, relieved at the presence of people apart from the blonde woman resolutely pointing a gun in his face.

"I don't know what the hell you cops are playing at, but this is against-" he began to protest.

"_Shut up_."

The words were forced out through gritted teeth as Brenda finally steadied her gun, the arrival of her officers providing the necessary impetus to pull herself together. Convinced that she was near enough to losing control that his life was in jeopardy, the man held his tongue but looked at the officers in mute appeal.

Provenza and Sergeant Gabriel exchanged a glance.

"Why don't you take care of our intruder?" Gabriel suggested mildly.

"How come I have to do the dirty work?" said Provenza, his face setting along familiar surly lines.

Gabriel shrugged. "Well, if you want to deal with the Chief…"

Assessing their department head's condition, the older man shook his head, opting to pull out his cuffs. "She doesn't look too good. Of course, neither does this guy," Provenza smirked as he motioned the man to his feet. "Hey, I like your nose that way- gives your face character."

Tuning out as the lieutenant issued the standard caution, Gabriel turned his attention back towards his battered boss. Her eyes were coldly focused on the man now in cuffs, boring into his back as Provenza hauled him out of the room, although once gone, her gaze returned to the gun that now lay limply in her hands as though unsure what to do with it.

"Here, why don't you let me take that?" he said softly, not wanting to sound threatening or alarm her in any way.

Her body felt leaden, as though she would have to muster up every last remnant of strength in her body in order to stand or move or even twitch a muscle. Gabriel's voice seemed to be coming from such a long distance away, she could not distinguish the words, they simply blurred into nonsensical vibrations in the background that barely registered with her. The last spate of energy that had enabled her to function normally until the two men arrived drained out of her veins, leaving her weak, exhausted and worn out.

Looking at her, Gabriel felt a deep throbbing anger within him for the bastard that had done this. For a woman so scattered as the Chief, it was a miracle how well put together she managed to present herself on a day-to-day basis. And who could forget her makeover in the line of duty, subjecting herself to hair styling, makeup and costume changes while pursuing the case of murdered Heather Kingsley? His eyes had certainly contemplated dropping out once he got a look of her in that slinky black gown she had poured herself into. Yet his respect for her remained a constant, no matter how outrageously she bluffed or gambled, and outlandishly conjectured- whatever façade she employed to draw others to misjudge her or mistake she had seemingly made in evaluating the case, he remained steadfast in his conviction that she would come through in the end. She had not yet failed to do so.

To see the Chief now- a nasty gash on her forehead that trickled blood, dress torn indecently low down the front, bruises forming on her body…if he had been given time to properly judge her condition before Provenza had led the perp out of there, Gabriel might have been tempted to take the man into custody himself, if only to teach him a lesson. He was not a violent man at heart, but one could make exceptions for these sorts of cases.

Unsure how exactly to deal with her, Gabriel reasoned that it could only help to remove the gun from her grasp in case she accidentally triggered it somehow, and to then take her to the hospital, where she could have her injuries treated. Carefully scooping the gun from her compliant hold, he tucked it away before kneeling in front of the woman to meet her lowered gaze.

"Chief?" he said encouragingly. "Come on, we've got to get you out of here. You need to have those injuries seen to, and that gash certainly needs to be bandaged."

As their eyes connected, he feared for a moment that she was too far gone in shock to respond, eyes detached and lifeless, blank as though she did not recognize him. Then a tremor ran through her body and she finally seemed to come back to herself.

"No, thank you, I'm fine," Brenda said, demurring his suggestion as she ran a hand through her hair, trying in vain to restore order to her appearance.

A brief skim over her cut, scraping over dried blood, and down to her neck to linger over the shocking bruises there caused her lips to tighten as the pain registered at last, no longer held at bay by the previous combination of shock and adrenaline. Feeling flooded back into her body, reigniting old and new complaints, but she brushed these aside, propriety troubling her now as fingers worried at the frayed edges of her dress's ripped neckline. Giving it up as a lost cause, she blinked rapidly as her eyes burned, and contented herself with tugging the wrap tightly around her body again.

"I really think that you ought to-" Gabriel tried, but was cut off.

"Thank you for your concern, Sergeant," her voice carried a distinct edge, "but it is not necessary. I'll be fine. Now…the suspect, has he- that man's been taken into custody?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Gabriel, resigned to what was coming next.

"Then we'd better get back for the interrogation, hadn't we?"

Gabriel tried to reason with her. "You're going to question him- _now_, ma'am?" The woman had just been attacked, she refused to receive treatment and she was gung-ho to interrogate the suspect?

"No, no, Sergeant," she said sweetly, drawing on the Southern belle persona as a seal for her exposed wounds. "You misunderstand me- I'm not going to conduct the interview, _you_ are." A taut smile passed over her lips at his stunned expression.

"Oh…"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, I just like to play with them.

**Out of Pride's Ashes- Part 3**

Brenda gripped the edge of the basin, the strength of her grip turning her knuckles white as she studied her appearance. Far from the poised, self-assured visage she wanted to portray, there was a brittle quality to her features that she was unable to expunge after the trauma of the attack. Her eyes, at least, were clear and lacked the telltale redness that accompanied a crying jag. She did not permit tears, and especially not at work.

Turning on the water, she splashed the welcome coolness on her face, scrubbing as though her cares and concerns could be washed away as well if she just applied enough vigor. Opening her eyes, she was surprised to find another face reflected in the mirror, revealing another woman waiting patiently to her side.

"Detective Daniels," she cleared her throat, trying to erase the huskiness from where her throat still troubled her. "What can I do for you?"

"Here," the woman handed her a box of tissues from a bag. "They'll be more gentle on your face than using that paper towel rubbish."

Brenda hesitated for a moment, then accepted the proffered tissues. "Thank you. Obviously whoever implemented the paper towel system wasn't a woman."

"Are they ever?" Daniels asked philosophically.

"I suppose not," the smile on Brenda's lips lasted a moment, before she noticed the other woman's eyes lingering on the bruises that marred the tender skin of her neck. She snapped back to business instantly. "Was there something you wanted, Detective?"

The dark woman took in the pale, determined features of her boss and knew that any chance of offering sympathy or compassion had been lost in that moment. Instead, she adopted the brisk, impersonal manner that Brenda had assumed and offered the other item, a kit containing disinfectant and bandages for the head wound.

"You really should let a doctor or someone look at that," Daniels said casually.

Brenda fixed her with a stare. "Don't think for a moment that I don't know what you're doing," she warned the other woman.

"What's that?" Daniels asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Taking care of me," she said with distaste. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you. Yes, I did experience what some may consider a traumatic experience, but when you work in this profession, it is just an occupational hazard. It's not even like I was shot or anything. I'm fine."

Both pairs of eyes fixed on her trembling hands that belied the firm conviction of her words. Brenda darted a stern glance at Daniels, just daring her to comment. To her credit, the detective refrained from pointing out the obvious evidence that suggested any condition other than 'fine' and shook the bag she still held with pointed emphasis.

Feeling as though she had overreacted just the slightest little bit, Brenda shut her eyes for a moment, before she refocused on Daniels. "Thank you," she said sincerely, with only a faint tremor of emotion.

Do_ try your best to win friends, not repel them_, she mentally reminded herself, not nearly as close to hysteria as she was to total shutdown.When her natural instinct was to barricade herself away from others in times of strain, habits learnt over a lifetime of struggling to cope with crisis after crisis, it was difficult to accept a helping hand. The 'No Trespassing' signs went up without consciously raising them. It was easier that way.

"Detective, if you don't mind- since you so kindly brought me this kit, I'll need a few minutes to myself…" she trailed off meaningfully, regarding her reflection in the mirror once more.

"Of course," Daniel said agreeably. "We'll wait for you before starting the interview."

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

"No problem." The woman left the bathroom with quiet grace.

Brenda began to apply the butterfly bandaid to her head wound as best she could, letting a moan escape at the rapidly escalating headache that was building, and was thankful to have delegated the interview to Gabriel. Apart from the satisfaction of seeing his shock at being entrusted to such a task, when she was notorious for micro-managing, it was simple self preservation. She simply could not confront her attacker in such a state; she was ready to fall into pieces as it was, no matter how much bravado she struggled to patch herself up with, and to face him now placed her at the risk of being shattered permanently, in her own eyes, and worse, in the eyes of her subordinates. That was an unacceptable scenario, and one she was hell-bent on avoiding.

Once she was satisfied that as much had been done as to render her image passably suitable, Brenda regrouped and left the bathroom. She had an interrogation to observe.


End file.
